Midnight Story

Midnight Story

self

Her words don't make sense as she speaks at a thousand words per minute.

October 28, 2012

The girl that lived in my head has returned. I thought I’d controlled her, locked her in a room and swallowed the key, but she’s stubborn.

I look at her with pity—she’s weak, has no sense of logic, can’t even control her own emotions. But there’s something that binds us together.

Her words don’t make sense as she speaks at a thousand words per minute. When she finally stops to take a breath, they develop into shapes.

“I don’t understand people,” she says, looking through me without blinking. “And they don’t understand me.”

The walls now seem closer, the room narrower as I secretly plan out how I’m going to lock her up again. Time is running out. It seems that if I don’t come up with something, I’ll be stuck in this claustrophobic room with her for the rest of my life.

She senses my fear and starts to tease me.

“There is no way out of here. You need to accept that I am part of you, and you me.”

I cringe at the thought but is strangely thinking the same.

I scream. I don’t want to hear any more. I close my eyes, hope and pray that this isn’t happening and that when I open my eyes, it’s all just a dream.

I wait three seconds, then slowly open them.

She’s no longer in the room as it changes back to the way it was.

I stand up and head towards the door. Just as I’m about to touch the doorknob, a voice whispers in my ear “We are one.”

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